


For you to come no matter what

by Silversonne



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Killing Joke (Comics)
Genre: Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Nervousness, Obsession, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24002560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silversonne/pseuds/Silversonne
Summary: This is the translation of my story - https://archiveofourown.org/works/23189395R-E Translator: ladyxenaxOnce again Joker has escaped Arkham but he’s not himself now, much to Batman surprise. That’s why, Batman decides not to turn him to the police but take to the asylum by himself. But the trip happens to be much longer than usual.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 10
Kudos: 107





	For you to come no matter what

**Author's Note:**

> Author loves the most gorgeous and sentimental Joker from “The Killing Joke” beyond measure and thought about him a lot. This work is the result of all those thoughts and talks with Rafael_Izuru about the relationship between this Joker and Batman.
> 
> With deep gratitude for Rafael_Izuru as a gift :)
> 
> For the right mood, I’d like to add these expressive and very emotional arts made by NoJuRo:  
> 1) https://yadi.sk/i/3r9RreZ-X73I3w  
> 2) https://yadi.sk/i/apzdiVHYRoV-rQ
> 
> And I want to thank the translator for this amazing job :)))

♠♠♠

The howl of sirens was getting closer. A good sign. It means the officer could get help soon. Now he needed to concentrate. Batman tried not to let his guard down and took a swing. But Joker was faster, throwing a long pen-shaped silver object — it blew up with dazzling white light — and disappeared. If it had not been for reaction honed by months of training, Batman would have gone blind. But he managed to dodge by hiding behind the swing of his cloak, and now was looking all over the unfortunate roof in search of the maniac who escaped from Arkham a week ago and in so little time succeeded in blowing up a jewelry store and kidnap a young police officer, reducing him to the state of bloody bubbles.

Two years and three and a half months passed after Barbara became disabled and Commissioner Gordon had gone through the most horrible day in his life. Meanwhile, Joker was able to sneak out from the asylum three times and three times he was taken back there by Batman. Joker’s fourth break was accompanied by atrocities never seen before, so one could only think that his mental state had turned to worse. 

But no matter what the damn psycho could come up with, Batman would drag him down from the roof, at all costs. After all, what could Joker put against him — wacky devices, stolen, taken or bought from God knows whom? Another experiment of the sick mind — a monstrous mixture of chemicals, miraculously effective without a hitch? He dealt with Joker in the past and should deal with him this time as well. 

Batman ground his teeth. Wind was getting stronger. Thunderclouds were crawling to the suburbs (where they were) from downtown of Gotham. Dusk fallen down on the city was aggressively eaten by the darkness.

Joker jumped at Batman from behind the rusty pipes. He was dirty, his vest lopsided and torn at his shoulder (the jacket was dropped near the battered officer; the fucker probably felt too hot). Covered in his own and someone else’s blood from head to toes, holding a crooked metal bar in his hand. Batman fought it off with one blow and Joker flew to the side, grasping his dislocated wrist…

_A powerful attack disjointed his wrist but he didn’t even feel the pain — it passed in the background and disappeared in the air that was quickly filling up with darkness and damp. A nameless feeling, something similar to despair and emptiness, overwhelmed him. A mere couple of months ago he would jump at Batman like a hungry animal at its prey, driven by the one and only urge — get his claws into the throat hidden under the frame, and then come what may. Here and now he saw Batman as a blurred giant figure without contours in the damp hopeless web of dusk spreading over Gotham._

Joker stood up and reached his hands forward. It took a moment for Batman to jump and hit him, knocking out… nothing from his outstretched hands? Joker flopped down the shallow hole in the sagged roof, moved back, tearing his gloves against the cracked asphalt and now was scratching his palms in blood but did not even try to defend himself when Batman grabbed his shirt and yanked him up, clasping his thin neck. And when he was thrown away once again, he ignored the metal bar next to him. 

He did not react. He did not defend himself. Just let himself be beaten while wearing a smile that was getting wider and wider until it dried and ended with a hysterical rattling noise. Then, Joker abruptly went silent and again reached his hands forward.

“Take me to Arkham.” His low voice was almost unrecognizable in the wail of the wind.

“What?” Batman though he was hearing things.

Was it another trick? A trap?

He looked at Joker and did not see him — his regular enemy who was so familiar to him. He was not amused in the least and there was not any loud dramatic snickering for the hell of it or not. There was not any wild excitement in his eyes, he was not cracking any witty remarks or annoying jokes. Even his smile, always full of… what not, today it was empty. There was not any usual masochism like in all Joker’s fights before. The pieces of the familiar pattern — the escape, the crime, the resistance — did not fit. The escape happened; the crime took place as well — Joker even overextended himself by turning the poor guy into a pissing-his-pants totally-out-of-it lump of flesh. Only this time there was no resistance, as if Joker lost interest in this “game” at once. 

“Enough.” Joker spat some blood and wiped it all over his cheeks, smudging it together with lipstick. “Take me to Arkham.”

He suddenly bent over and puked on the roof. Then, his head hit the asphalt and Batman had to grab him by the scruff like a damn puppy and put him on his feet.

Joker was shivering. He looked away, either grimacing and giggling like crazy or whining — one could not tell because of sharp gusts of wind.

“Bats…” Joker whispered pleadingly and glanced at him for a moment.

_Before his eyes, a whirlwind of faces was turning, faster and faster. Faces of those he mutilated, tortured, killed or planned to murder. Faces of those he thought about or saw briefly in the streets of Gotham or in Arkham. Thousands of faces and forms but above all of them soared a winged shadow, great and big like a mountain. And it turned everything in this whirlwind into nothingness, emptiness. One bad never-ending or never-starting day that he failed to remember while being buried under those black wings._

_He seemed to puke once again on the asphalt, but the shadow did not disappear. On the contrary, it tried to capture him, and fear got its claws into him like a hound trained to catch its prey. He thought about Batman too much, why he had been beating him into a pulp and returning to Arkham but never let him die, never wanted to kill him, trample on or degrade. If only Batman did all these, everything would be over soon, he wouldn’t need to be in such a torment. Or maybe, it was the other way around?_

_The knight was hovering about him. Without that knight, the everything in the world would have lost its meaning. This unnamed feeling made him lonely and miserable. He was supposed to hate him, he had to. They both had to… How did it happen? Without this more than two-year-long confrontation he would have turned into a senseless worthless vegetable capable of nothing than fleshless fantasies? Whose unfortunate joke was this? To make him catch a disease called Batman? Or did somebody infect Batman with him? So now he became a new unknown incurable disease of this bat? Was everything a damn funny joke?_

_And now his knight was becoming the night shadows right in front of his eyes. Losing contours as if he had never existed before. One more hit — and he would be out, and then he would wake up and there would be nothing here…_

_“Why did you blow up the jewelry store? Why did you torture that police office?” A thunder-like voice was heard through the wind._

Dark clouds with yellow patches of lighting were fighting above their heads. Inevitably, the first drops started to fall.

“For you to come no matter what…” Joker barely spoke. He stepped towards Batman and nestle his face against the hard and smooth chest armor.

“Are you ready to go to Arkham willingly?”

Joker nodded.

There was something wrong about that gesture and a really easy consent. Batman decided: he would not turn Joker to the police and take him to the asylum with his own hands.

♠♠♠

The flash-like descent from the roof using Batclaw ended shitty for Joker: again, he puked his guts out and had to be dragged to the Batmobile by the elbow. Halfway they were caught in the heavy rain. Joker lost his footing and fell down twice (once badly, on his dislocated wrist) on the ground that at once turned to liquid mud. Remote districts of Gotham like that one — forsaken by God, city authorities and decent citizens — were never improved or renovated. Meanwhile, James Gordon was already hurrying up to them through downpour and lightings, and Batman left Joker alone for some time. 

“It’s all right, Jim, I’ll take him to Arkham myself. Better go to that poor kid. It’s better for your guys to stay away from him for today… By the way, where are they?”

“Stuck in the traffic. So if you want to take him now, you have five minutes to get away from here.”

“Roger that. Hey, stand up, let’s go.”

Batman pull up Joker who was still out of it and pushed towards the car.

He held Joker by the scruff (for him not to lose his footing rather than to prevent the possible escape) with one hand and with the other — opened the door and switched off the protective scanning device. If Joker tried to steal the Batmobile, the system would detect him and turn the car into a most secure prison, also would release sleeping gas in the air.

Batman slapped the handcuffs onto Joker who was drenched to the skin, shoved him to the passenger seat and fastened the seat belt.

♠♠♠

The quiet in the car was… overwhelming. Everything seemed to be all right but Joker kept silence, bent double next to him. He was shivering, water flew down from his curly hair in greenish dull streaks, leaving dirty traces on his white face.

“Joker.” Batman called him. 

Silence was the answer, long and unnatural.

And then Batman heard a quiet sob. A mechanism might have responded or Joker in his wet pants might have fidgeted on the leather seat. But he heard the sound once again and turned to Joker.

_Why did he have to turn? He was staring at the damn road crawling in the darkness and he should not have turned his eyes away. Joker tensed up, trying to let out at least a laugh, but his throat was cramped with pain and only bubbling silence came out. He tried to suppress that disgusting urge, out of place here and now, but the world in front of his eyes became feverish red and cold. Walls of the car narrowed and pressed him so strongly that his chest could crack. His fucked-up body betrayed him, failing to obey. He was angry and jerked the safety belt, nearly tearing away its latch, but the belt tightened and squeezed the chest for real. Pain made Joker take a sudden breath and scream:_

_“PULL OVER! Bats, pull over…”_

_He yanked the belt once more, it unlatched with a loud crack and… latched again. The handcuffs dig painfully into his wrists._

_In one swift motion he dashed towards the wheel, managed to grab it and turned towards himself but Batman pushed him aside._

_“Calm down!”_

_The black palm tightly pressed Joker against the seat. Under this palm, his heart was beating like mad because he felt the pure and bare iron will, coming from Batman. Joker was waiting for Batman to hit him, his body tensed up — Batman’s hand simply held him in place — and he managed to utter:_

_“Take your hand off! Now… you’d better not touch me!”_

_As soon as Batman released him, Joker took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the pain in the wrist (for sure, it was already broken). Thoughts rushed down the rabbit hole of the past, to their talk on the roof and even deeper — to their very first meeting at the plant, when Joker jumped into the tank full of chemicals as if it could rescue him from the black-cloaked monster. To their ill-fated fight when Batman beat him up and then offered help, promised to bring him back to normal life if he agreed. When Joker declined, scared of deception, not knowing that Batman could be trusted. And then, he once again thought about the request to take him to Arkham. But would it make a difference? Was Arkham able to help him? If anybody could, it would be only the man sitting to his left, who would reach out… but only to hand him over to others. If only Batman were more talkative, if only he stopped him from thinking about the obvious. It had to be obvious. Everything was worthless. Everything. Absolutely. Worthless. Batman had a light that burnt out long time ago. That light illuminated too many monstrous, disgusting and unforgivable things. Joker pressed his hands to his face and then started forcefully twisting out his fingers, because he could no longer bear the despair, building up inside of him. Until his vision darkened from the pain and he felt sick._

_He looked at Batman again, who was shouting to him something like “Stop!” or whatever._

Batman pulled over and slammed on the brakes. He did not care if Joker would puke inside the Batmobile, his car had seen worse. But twisted fingers were something else, not the usual psychotic fit. Joker kept silence for so long, as if he had been thinking about something. Was the pain the only way to stop those thoughts? 

Batman unfastened the seat belt, took off the handcuffs and opened the door. Joker tumbled out of the car right into the mud, under the heavy rain. He threw up again, the fit was long and painful. When everything was over, he didn’t even try to stand up and get into the car. He crawled to the side, to the edge of a small gulley, sat and squished his head between his hands without looking back and crumpled his tangled green locks.

♠♠♠

“Tell me, Joker.”

At first, Batman stood nearby, choosing not to come up closer. But when Joker gave no reaction, he settled next to him, on the wet grass. He should have looked at his face, to check what was going on. But it was difficult. It was difficult to force himself and pity the one who made his friend’s daughter a cripple, who harmed so many people. Joker was silent but no words were needed to understand that what a real terrifying hell of despair was unrolling in his head. Whether he was born with his hell or got it after that ill-fated incident in Ace Chemical, Batman didn’t know.

In front of him, the man was sitting under the rain, who was ready to break his fingers so that he could not feel or thing about what was happening in his head and his heart. The man who was all alone with himself in the whole world, who had nobody but for Batman, his number one enemy.

“Try to explain. Just try.” Batman repeated patiently. He decided to hear him out. Try one more time despite of all the pain he caused others. 

“I can’t do it.” Joker whispered and forcibly twisted the injured wrist. Tears came to him eyes.

_That would be easier, they could not be repressed either way. Let Batman think everything was because of pain and not because he was dying to ask him for help._

_He grabbed the other wrist but his hand was stopped and gripped tightly, not giving any chance to break free._

_“Let it go! I told you, don’t touch me!” Joker roared._

_The last thing he needed now was Batman touching him at a most terrible timing. He should have beaten him to half-death than like this._

_Only half an hour ago he was torturing a guy in cold blood, and now he felt like riding the swings as a child — heart missing a beat because of the joyful anticipation of flight and at the same time dying in fear of fall, and then revoltingly sinking to the stomach. When emotions were changing like ocean. When he wanted to die, preferably at a place far away from the troublesome and annoying bat._

“I will not let go, stop doing it. I am not taking you to Arkham for you to hurt yourself on the way.” 

“What for then?” Joker asked wearily and once again tried to break free. “Let me go for fuck sake!” 

His hands were trembling and his whole body — wet, cold, bruised, only in a shirt under heavy never-ending rain — was quivering like a leaf. At that, Batman took off his own gloves, and then, accompanied by the furious protests, took off Joker’s gloves as well and pressed the icy-cold fingers between the warmth of his own.

Joker gasped with resentment but said nothing, only stared on his pasty white hands cover in bleeding scratches between large groomed hands of Batman.

“You must not…” he mumbled at last. “You must not… not like this”. 

Ignoring the loud protests, Batman felt the injured wrist — luckily, it was not broken — and pull it in two short and sudden movements, setting the dislocation. Joker let a cry and bent over very closely to him. 

“Come on, talk to me, Joker. I can’t do all this heart-to-heart stuff and you don’t need it anyway, I guess. Talk to me as you can. About anything.”

At a loss, Joker kept on staring at his hands, so ugly and unnatural between those strong beautiful hands of the bat — and heard nothing of that Batman had been telling him. 

Following some unexplainable hunch, Batman started to massage those cold white fingers to warm them up somehow and to calm him down, to focus his attention and make him relax.

That sharp and scary feeling that overwhelmed Joker in the Batmobile had gone, leaving only bewilderment and child-like confusion. And discomfort as well. Joker was fidgeting all the time and trying to withdraw hands. His shivering was getting stronger with every passing moment. Batman failed to realize at first that he was cold and wet. And having realized at last, he pulled Joker to himself and hugged, putting his hands under Joker’s shirt and pressing his hot palms to the icy-cold back.

Joker winced and tensed up, ready to break free, to rip out from the unnecessary embrace. He didn’t need any pity, especially from Batman… and carefully, slightly touching the armor, snuggled against the black shoulder.

“Tell me.” Batman was persistent. 

“I cannot.” Joker whispered. “I can’t, Bats. I would like to but I can’t. Ask me about anything else.”

“No, we will not change the subject”.

One hand slipped out from under the shirt, Batman took Joker’s head to pull it backwards. He looked into Joker’s bloodshot hazel-green eyes. He used to cry once… after telling the joke about the two who decided to escape at moonlight night.

“Joker…” Batman exhaled, gathering more patience. 

“Even if your light has burned out, just wave it and I will know… I’ll know that once there was light…”

“The light is still there. Joker, I cannot talk in metaphors, I cannot tell irony from a joke or joke from sarcasm. I have no idea of what is going on in your head. But if you can still hear me — like at that time at the abandoned amusement park — listen to me once more. I really want to help you.” 

“I want to know why.”

“Why?”

“Yes, why, Bats?”

Batman pulled Joker to himself once again and his palm returned to its place under Joker’s shirt. White fingers knuckled against the black armor to keep the illusion of distance. 

Batman’s palms were slowly moving along Joker’s back, up and down. Even now, despite the cold, they remained hot.

_Joker was fidgeting because of the warmth and the strange sinking feeling — Batman was touching his sick skin mutilated by the chemicals with bare hands. It seemed as if these hands crawled beneath his skin. It was incredibly sensual, dangerous, unpleasant and at the same time extremely thrilling sensation. He would not allow anyone else to touch him that way, anybody else would have been torn apart and feed to dogs._

_Joker did not notice how he started to moan in a low voice, how he whispered:_

_“Do you need me? Tell me, do you still need me?”_

_He drew himself together, waiting for an answer and feeling tension all over his body, together with light tickling excitement._

_“Bats… If you need me, I will always stand on the other roof. I will sense you even in the darkness without the fucking lights.”_

_The wacky confession slipped out without his will! He was ready to break all fingers to stop himself from blurting out anything else, more disgusting and revealing the shameful weakness._

♠♠♠

“Joker, we don’t have to stand on the opposite roofs…”

The feeling of protection coming from the powerful armor so close and the feeling of control emanating from the bat made Joker stop. 

“You need me so that I could understand myself. Just promise that you will…”

_Batman’s words burnt with hot breath in his hair, and the warmth of his hands, lingering at that moment near his lower back turned into the wave that flooded his groin and made his erection harden. Joker jerked away and bit his lips, suppressing his voice, and then pressed into Batman, hiding his gaze and how treacherously wet and sticky inside of his pants felt._

_“Shut up. Shut up! I can’t. I cannot promise and you know it.” Joker got angry, hid his flushed face and… be it a nervous laugh, but he still laughed at last._

_He was ready to burn from shame or even better, turn Batman to ashes because he could not hide his surprise but said nothing._

_“Let me go already!”_

_“I’m no longer holding you.” For the first time since their today’s meeting Batman grinned and hold out the gloves to Joker._

♠♠♠

His steps echoed along dark corridors that smelled of fear, madness, paint and hate. As if they were mocking the shadows and those who would become like that soon.

“From here I’ll go alone.” Batman gestured for the attendant to stop. It was a guy two-meter tall with the face that looked more like a mask of some wrinkled Asian demon. His nose was deformed and an ugly scar stretched from his left eye to the neck along his cheek. Some lunatic attached him and left a reminder that would stay for the rest of his life.

“Second to last ward on the right. The lights are out there, you won’t see the number.”

“You can go, I’ll manage by myself.”

“I bet you will.” The attendant grinned and disappeared in the darkness of the neighboring corridor. 

Batman picked at long rusty key. To his surprise, the key went into the keyhole without much noise. The door didn’t creak or shriek like doors at places like that were supposed to. 

A man in the strait jacket was standing, facing the wall opposite the entrance. Batman was sure that he knew who the visitor was, whether he overheard their talk in the corridor or maybe felt it with some sixth sense — it did not matter much.

“Joker.” Batman had no idea how to start and cursed himself for not thinking over on the way to Arkham of what to say. Everything seemed so simply: to come and see that all was well, then go. “Mm… Are you okay here?” 

Joker did not move for some time, and then his shoulders started to shake from silent laughter. 

“You don’t want to talk to me, do you?”

For a moment Batman thought he did something wrong. Probably, he should not have come here. Probably, Joker did not need his sympathy. But there, under heavy rain, his eyes were asking for help, though he did not say a word about it. Could it be that he imagined it? Could he be mistaken? 

_Joker wanted to turn around but could not bring himself to look at Batman and could not let him see himself. Hell of a sweet and humiliating memory made him nervous. And in order to ignore it, he laughed at his own foolishness and the foolishness of that crazy bat. Why did he come here anyway? To show that the reach hand was still there?_

_And then, that hand lowered on his shoulder… The hot palm burnt his skin through thin fabric of the strait jacket._

Joker jerked away from the touch and hit his nose against the wall. 

“Are you out of your mind, Bats?” He lost it and turned around to glare at the bat.

The broken nose was bleeding. Batman wiped it with his finger and felt Joker shudder when his finger touched Joker’s cracked lips that did not have any lipstick on.

“I guess.” Batman smiled. 

Joker relaxed instantly and stared at his smile like the rarest phenomenon in the world. He forgot to be surprised at the fact that Batman touched him with his bare hand. 

_For the first time, Batman came to him not to interrogate or hit and make him confess. Without any reason. Just because he promised. And he smiled in such a way that Joker wanted to hid underground at first, and then to rip that smile and keep it with him forever._

_Joker could not take his eyes from those fucking attractive smiling mouth… but when he managed to look up at last, Batman turned back to the door. Joker nearly howled from disappointment. He wanted to ask Batman to visit him once more but could not say a word._

_The door opened without a sound, Batman disappeared in the dim light of the corridor, and then came darkness again. And loneliness. But not quite how it used to be._

_Joker sank on the floor and stretched his legs. Closed his eyes. He did not imagine, he remembered. He got what Batman shared with such reluctance. His smile._


End file.
